The Only Life Worth Saving
by thegoofybookworm
Summary: They knew what the Capitol wanted: a good, juicy love story. They just weren't going to be the ones to give it to them. Just give it a chance, the summary is just... Rated T for author paranoia. First published fanfic on here, reviews are encouraged!
1. The Reapings

**Clove**

_Him_. Oh God no, not him. Out of the thousands of boys being reaped, Starlet pulls out Hatchet's name. I stand, awestruck, as my weak little cousin makes his way up the stage to face me. I can read his fear in his eyes. He's one of the smallest kids from our district, the only one who'd never been trained for the Games because of his physical deficiency. And now it wouldn't matter. He was going to die. I was sure of it, and, by the look on his face, so was he.

"Any volunteers?" Starlet asks, smiling at the crowd. I scan the audience anxiously, waiting for someone to throw himself forward. For a second, my heart stops, and my breath catches, and I realize that Hatchet is going to die. My cousin, the only one with a truly good heart in our district, is going to be dead in less than a month.

All of a sudden, there's commotion down in the stands as a tall, muscular boy lunges forward, waving his arm in the air. "Me! I volunteer!" he shouts, stomping up to the stage without waiting to be recognized. Not that the wait would've been long at all; it's Cato, the only boy that would be insane enough to volunteer for such a lost case anyways. Why put him at the risk of death when someone else would obviously die? He's almost out of breath, but not quite, as he arrives to Starlet, barely throwing a glance my way before smirking at our escort.

"Wonderful!" Starlet cries in her awful Capitol accent we all know she's just faking. "Hatchet, it seems you may return with the other fourteen-year-olds. We have a volunteer! What is your—" she begins to ask. Stupid her. As if Cato needed prompting.

"Cato," he interrupts her, excited and staring the camera right in the lens. "My name is Cato, and I'm the District 2 volunteer."

I scoff and roll my eyes at his little display. Does he have any idea what he's gotten into? Oh, how I _wish_ there was a girl as brutal as him to have volunteered for me. Not that I minded killing anyone—I was looking forward to _that_ part—but at least in District 2, I didn't have to look like a princess or try to be nice to people who were betting on my survival skills. How _dare_ any of them doubt me! I'm vaguely aware of Starlet telling us to shake hands, and as I turn to face him, I'm struck by the bloodthirsty, eager look in his eyes, as if he can't wait to get his hands on a murder weapon.

His grip is strong, and I take the opportunity to scan his body. Tall, big, even more muscular up close, with ruthless pale blue eyes and shortly cropped sandy hair. He could pull in some serious sponsors for his looks, and I bet after he's proven himself then even more of those pathetic little only-for-show silver parachutes will rain down on him. While I'll be doing, what? Surviving on my own, completely independent of sponsors who could waste me away with a flick of their wrist.

**Cato**

_It's her_, I think, tuning out Starlet's incessant chatter as we walk into the Justice Building, large, made of marble, beautifully designed. Clove is walking at the other side of our escort, as if she just can't get far enough away from me. But I remember her all too well. She's Hatchet's cousin, the cousin of the wimpy kid who got reaped before I stepped in and saved his sorry ass. Maybe she's thinking I did it for her. Well, I didn't. I couldn't care less about that little twig that was her cousin.

"Ah, here we are!" Starlet beams at us as we size up our…doors. _Seriously, Starlet_, I groan in my mind, reaching for the silver doorknob. _What's so good about our doors?_ Then I notice that I'm going to be staying right next door to Clove. Oh, how wonderful. I get to hear her pitiful girly cries at night before we're catered away to the Capitol for the Games. She'll probably wimp out and dies first. Maybe, with enough luck, I won't be the one who kills her. Who knows?

Clove's already slammed her door behind her, and I can hear two objects—her shoes?—crash into the door with a loud _thud!_ She's probably curled up into a ball crying right now. Wouldn't surprise me, either. Look at what Hatchet grew into; she isn't going to be any better, I'm sure. Starlet looks around for a while before getting the hint that she should just get lost. I walk into the room.

It's like a parallel universe in the Justice Building bedroom. Well, not parallel to the building, but to the district, definitely. The large bed is draped in red velvet covers, with pillows that look well stuffed, and suddenly I'm wondering how easily they'd be for my arms to rip them apart, when there's a knock on my door. _Not Starlet!_ I cry out inside, already annoyed enough by our darling escort. I swing the door open, ready to take a swing myself, when I realize it's Clove.

"Can I come in?" she asks, arms crossed indignantly, as if she's doing me a huge favor. I'm about to slam the door in her face when she wedges her foot by the doorway. "You're allowed an hour for visits, but they're not letting anyone in yet. So _can I come in_?"

I sigh and pull the door open again, gesturing with my arm for her to come inside. She doesn't hesitate; instead she waltzes in as if it was her own room, which is what it must seem like, and she takes a seat on my bed, leaving only a golden chair for me. We sit in silence for a few seconds before she unfolds her arms and looks at her hands. "You must really think you're coming home," she says absentmindedly, as if she's talking to nobody in particular.

"Well, I am," I answer cockily, defiantly sticking out my chin. It's not any of her business, anyways. So what if I volunteered for her dorky cousin? She sighs, but doesn't lift her gaze, and I take her in mentally. Short, small, but looks quick and nimble. Her dark hair reaches halfway down her back, and is pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head. She's pale, and has dark eyes that look every bit as violent and unforgiving as I'm sure mine do. Good. At least she'll be fun to hunt.

"You probably think I'll die soon, don't you?" she challenges, finally raising her eyes to meet mine. I see the fury in her eyes that I'd seen so often in my own when I knew my father thought me a weakling, and suddenly she's not Clove the Prey, but Clove the Huntress. "That you'll get your hands on some huge weapon and tear me to pieces, and then go after the others. Or, maybe, another tribute will kill me because I'm _just. That. Weak_!"

I'm taken aback by the anger in her words. True, I'd already written her off. She was only fifteen, and she wouldn't be much use to me. Maybe if I formed allies before the Games began I would consider her, but most likely I would've just…gotten my hands on some huge weapon and torn her to pieces. "I can't afford dead weight," I snap, my voice failing me. I got the feeling that if I was in the arena right now, she wouldn't be the last tribute on my list for alliances. Not with her snarky little attitude.

"Well, if you're going to kill me," she tells me, standing up and reaching for the door, "give me a heads up. I'm sure that they wouldn't want to miss out on the show."

**Clove**

Who does he think he is? Here I am, trying to figure out how I would use different weapons—what if they didn't have any of my precious knives? I had to be prepared—while he was in his room, probably trying to think of a way to intimidate the other tributes, get a bunch of sponsors, give the Capitol a good show. Stupid Cato. If he really wanted to entertain his masters, his ventriloquists, then he'd be the first one to drop dead, give them some speculation about how a fearless boy from 2 could be done with so quickly.

I hadn't gotten many visitors—just Hatchet and my mother—so I was done well under the hour. The rest of the time, I sit on my bed, making swirling patterns on the blood red velvet on my bed. Finally one of the attendants comes in, offering me some bread and butter. To my pleasure, he's offering not the typical butter knives, but the cruel, sharp butcher knives. I smile as he walks away, probably having given me the knives on purpose. I look around the room, trying to find a suitable wooden surface for throwing practice, before my eyes rest on the beautiful door. Perfect. The dumb thing needed redecorating anyways.

I raise my hand, close my left eye to aim, and throw. It sticks to the center of the door with a satisfying crunch, and as I stand up to retrieve it the door swings open. It's Cato, who's surprised when the door stops short because of the handle of my knife. He checks the back of the door and grins, pulling out the blade. He tosses it back onto the bed, and I snatch it, then point it at him threateningly.

"Are you sure you want to come in?" I ask menacingly, lowering my voice about an octave. I know I must look ridiculous, but I'm still somewhat hurt by his insinuation that I'd be nothing more but dead weight if we teamed up. Which, knowing the tributes from the past—the Careers from 1, 2 and 4—and our mentors, Brutus and Enobaria, we _will_.

He laughs, as if I'm just this adorable little girl holding a knife out at him. "Aren't you supposed to wait until the Capitol to begin your training?" he asks sarcastically, which brings out a smirk from my part. We're technically not supposed to train until we're in the Capitol, but our district mostly ignores that silly little rule. Not like anyone actually cares.

His expression turns serious all of a sudden. "I won't kill you, you know," he says matter-of-factly, taking a seat at the foot of my bed.

I raise an eyebrow quizzically; this is news to me. "Oh? And why not? Have you suddenly decided that human life has actual value?" I teased, leaning back onto the headboard.

"Don't be ridiculous," he retorts, a glint in his eyes as he realizes we have something in common. No, I didn't think he'd suddenly decided that human life had actual value. That would make him a weakling, rather than a contender, in the Games. I wouldn't think twice about killing someone like that. "I was just thinking, if I killed you, everyone here would hate me. Especially your family. I save your cousin and kill you? That's not honorable at all."

"Since when do _you_ care about honor?" I challenge him, sitting upright. There was truth to his words, though. If he kills me, people here would lose respect for him, and he'd be exiled, rather than escorted, to our overpopulated Victor's Village.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Isn't that what this is all about? Bringing honor to our district?" he replies, and I'm suddenly thinking about it as well. Is that even true? I thought winning the Games was all about surviving, and then becoming rich and living in a large house. Pure self-interest, none of that honorable stuff. Still, what he says makes sense. If you win, it benefits not just you, but your whole district. The Capitol treats you better, which in the end is what really matters.

I'm about to say something when the TV I hadn't even noticed before flashes on suddenly, ready to broadcast the reapings all over Panem.

**Cato**

District 1, a strong-looking boy and a gorgeous girl. Marvel and Glimmer. Easy pickings for allies, as far as typical Career tributes go. Maybe Glimmer will even be "fun" to have around. Clove notices me staring and rolls her eyes, then pretends to gag.

District 2. Us. I notice for the first time how Clove doesn't even hesitate to get up on stage, jut like she hadn't hesitated to barge into my bedroom once I'd opened the door for her. She's brave. Even as she shook my hand, she showed no fear or intimidation. _That_, I think, _can come in handy when we're allies_.

Allies. Huh. Who would've thought I'd choose wispy little Clove, a pretty small girl compared to other girls from 2, as my ally in such a serious matter.

Clove and I make jokes throughout the rest of the reapings. The tributes from 3 are both small, skinny. The boy looks smart, but the girl just looks out of it. The tributes from 4 look useful, slightly better built than average kids. Of course; they're Career-trained, too. The girl from 5 looks fast, evasive. Not a huntress like Clove. The boy isn't worth mentioning. On and on we go until 11, where Clove bursts out laughing when a twelve-year-old gets reaped. She's so small, so skinny, so fragile. I get the sense that if we were to kill her, we'd probably tease her first, make her feel slightly less helpless before viciously murdering her. The boy pulls me up short. Definitely Career material. He's big, bulky, strong, could probably take us down. Clove and I exchange glances that say it all. He's coming with us.

Again Clove laughs when 12 brings out yet another twelve-year-old, bless their coal dust-covered souls, until a tall 16-year-old takes her place. Clove sits up, stunned. I can't say I feel differently. District 12 is notorious for no volunteers, and exactly two victors. The girl looks so desperate, so honest about volunteering, that I'm sure that any sponsors scribbling my name down on betting ballots are probably rethinking her chances of survival against mine. I want to strangle her for taking the attention away from me! I calm down just as another well-built boy gets called. Peeta. I'll have to keep that name in mind. He wouldn't be too bad to carry around as a Career for a while. Besides, he'll be fun to kill. He looks so scared!

After they sign off, Clove and I sit in awkward silence. She's no longer the little girl I thought was in the Games with me; now I can see she's also a ruthless killing machine. I know for certain I won't be killing her in the arena. She'll either win, or get killed by Glimmer or Marvel or some other Career.


	2. The Capitol

**Clove**

The chariot rides are boring, to say the least. My stylist, Jewels, dresses me in a golden armor that embraces my curves and exaggerates my eyes. He adds some makeup to make my eyebrows arch defiantly, my lips look mean and menacing. He straightens my curls and adds golden powder to make it match the rest of my outfit. I feel like a princess.

And I hate every minute of it.

After the first twenty seconds of being uncomfortably placed next to Cato, who looks even more ridiculous than I do in his own golden armor and fake golden sword, on the moving (golden) chariot, it gets dull pretty quickly. All we really have to do is wave at the crowds. We don't even have to smile; good. I'm no good at smiling at people who might potentially think I'm weak.

All of a sudden, everyone gasps. I look at Cato, and when I realize that he hasn't, in fact, fallen off the chariot like I imagined, I frantically turn to see what has caused this disruption in the crowd. And that's when I see the tributes from 12, and I'm only able to form one thought.

_They are on _fire_!_

**Cato**

Honestly, the only tributes that have caused a lasting impression on me or Clove so far have been Glimmer, and Marvel…and Thresh. The big one from 11. He's quiet, sullen, keeps to himself. But there's something odd about this. It's like he's protesting against something. It's not the Games, though, because whenever we're in combat he always brings down his opponents. Clove pales when she realizes she's not the only one that can aim.

The girl that caused so much excitement both in the reaping and in the chariot ride, the girl from 12, Katniss, is keeping a surprisingly low profile. You'd think that, because she volunteered and seemed so brave about it too, she would actually be good at something, or stand a chance in the games, but no. The only thing she seems to be good at is the edible plants test and the snares, which would come in handy if you didn't know about the lovely Cornucopia, always generous enough to provide us with all the food we'll need in the arena.

Her district partner, Peeta, doesn't seem to be too outstanding either. He seems to be entertained at the camouflage station, where he paints his arm into a tree, but other than that, there's nothing he can do. He hasn't even gone near the weights like the rest of us—probably trying to avoid looking weak in front of the Gamemakers.

"Hey," I say as I approach Thresh on the third day of training. I quickly look over my shoulder, making sure that Clove hasn't run off with Glimmer and Marvel, and ditched me. Honestly, Thresh is the only tribute that I consider worth, well, considering.

He eyes me distrustfully, putting down a huge weight he'd been lifting, but he doesn't reply. I go on. "Listen, I don't know if you know, but we—Glimmer, Marvel, Clove and I—think you stand a chance of survival. Funny thing is, so do we. How would you like to join us in the Careers? We're practically guaranteed to win," I say, just as Brutus, our mentor, has instructed us to.

Thresh doesn't even hesitate before walking away. Clove gathers her breath to scream at him—some profanity, too, no doubt—but I clamp my hand over her mouth just in time. "Don't bother," I hiss, frustrated that it's only six of us this year. Glimmer, Marvel, Clove, the kids from 4, and myself. "We'll see how long he lasts without us."

**Clove**

"An _eleven_?" I shriek, not thinking twice before a knife is lodged in the screen of my TV. A second one is soon to follow, and soon I'm throwing forks and spoons at it as well. Cato must've been watching, too, because he's spitting mad when he barges into my room, not even looking twice at my television. We don't even congratulate each other on our nine and ten for our training scores.

"Was that _two_ ones, or just one?" he demands, furious. He grabs the remote of my TV and flings it, too, before realizing that my silverware has destroyed it. "Did that…that _bitch_ seriously do better than me?"

I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. No use if both of us are so delirious that they call Peacekeepers to come sedate us. "What are you going to do?" I ask, for the first time shrinking back from Cato. Never had he been this angry—not at home, and not in the Justice Building when I yelled at him, and certainly not here. "We can't just ask her to team up with us."

Then I remember something. A small detail really. But when Katniss went to talk to Peeta, he got this glazed look in his eyes, as if he couldn't believe she was really there with him. "Wait," I say. The realization is so strong that it's as if I'm actually hit physically. "Wait, wait, wait, Cato! The boy, Peeta…You said you were thinking about inviting him with us. He might know…" My voice trails off, but I know he understands because he calms down instantly.

He might know how she got that eleven.

**Cato**

Caesar has only asked me two questions before I feel that all the ladies in the Capitol are probably head over heels for the arrogant volunteer from District Two. I'm even starting to suspect that Clove might actually start to feel something for me, too.

The interviews each last about 3 minutes, way more than enough for us to make final decisions on Career applications. None of the other tributes seem fit for a spot in our group, but Peeta's interview hasn't come on yet. Maybe if he says something remarkable, something to pull in sponsors or tip us off about Katniss, we'll invite him. But as we wait backstage, Clove slouched on the sofa, heels kicked off, Glimmer's resting her head on my shoulder, waiting for Peeta's interview.

Katniss's interview comes first, though, and I can't help but feel sorry for her. She's terrible! The highlight of the three minutes is when she talks about her little sister and twirls in that sparkly dress. I can tell by the way Glimmer stiffens that she'd thought _she_ would be the one with the gorgeous dress. Obviously this stylist is new.

Finally it's our man Peeta's turn to talk. It's obvious right from the start that he is not as awkward as his district partner, and he hits off really well with Caesar. They're even borderline comical, which is sure to pull in some serious sponsors. Even Glimmer is giggling at some stuff Peeta says.

We've about made our decision when Peeta confesses his love for Katniss.

**Clove**

Each night in the Capitol brings on new nightmares. My mother being tortured and killed by one of the tributes, or me arriving at the Cornucopia, only to find that all the weapons have been stolen, and a large shadow—presumably that large tribute from 11—looms over me, ready to go in for the kill. I'm terrified by the time I wake up, at 3 in the morning, the day of the Games.

Somehow I just know it's pointless to try to keep on sleeping, so I sneak out and wander to the wide windowsill. I lay on the cool marble, letting the moon offer the only light, until I hear voices. My eyes burst open, and I look up. It's coming from one of the last floors. It's a boy and a girl speaking. They're just loud enough for me to hear them.

_District 12!_ I realize, and try to silence a scream of utter rage. Those two annoying bastards! Coming along with their little star-crossed lovers act. _Please_. They couldn't be more out of love with each other if they tried! I'm determined to kill them as soon as possible, especially the girl, Katniss. How dare she get a better score than me at training? My knife throwing is first class! And what can she do, anyways? I let out a little smirk as I visualize her setting up one of her pathetic little snares for the Gamemakers. That was all she seemed bent on doing during training, anyway.

I walk away from the windowsill as quietly as possible, not wanting to hear anymore of their sickening love act, and tiptoe through the hall until I find Cato's room. He usually leaves it unlocked, now that he knows about my bad nocturnal habits. I open it and slip inside.

He's sleeping, but I fix that quickly. I punch his shoulder, and he's wide alert in a second. "Oh, it's you," he breathes, relieved. I sit next to him and tell him about my latest nightmare, mentally recalling how hostile we'd been to each other after the reaping. Amazing what your imminent death or survival could do to bring two people together. He'd become, in many ways, the father figure I'd never had.

He puts an arm around me, using his other hand to gently pet my dark hair. "You're going to be fine," he whispers soothingly, pulling me into him. It's so cold in his room that I tuck myself in. I ask shyly if he minds, and when he shakes his head I close my eyes and sigh.

"Scared?" he asks gently, but it's not condescending. He actually sounds worried for me.

I shrug. "I just want to live, Cato," I say quietly, and he falls silent. Then I ask in return, "Do you think they'll have knives?" I sound so desperate, so fearful, so innocent. It makes me want to kick myself, but I actually feel terrified. Until now, it's been nothing but fun and games, playing the occasional torturous dress-up, getting to throw knives all day long instead of going to school to _learn_ about knives. But now I'm about to be thrown in with 23 other people, of which only 1 actually cares about me. Oh, Peeta, Glimmer, Marvel, and the two fish freaks are allies too, but they'd kill me in the wink of an eye.

Cato takes time to think about the question, and my head rests on his bicep. He's radiating warmth, which makes it that much harder to want to leave once we're through with our conversation. Then he says, "They will. Knives, swords, _food_." I smile at the thought. A way to survive and to make sure nobody else survives. The Cornucopia is now Career territory.

"Cato?" I ask even more quietly, closing my eyes again. He hums in response, and I just ask. "Promise you won't kill me?"

His hand freezes on my hair, and my stomach drops. But then he replies, "Of course I won't kill you. Your life might actually have some value."


	3. The Arena

**Cato**

It hasn't even been five hours and already a lot of tributes are dead. I haven't paid attention to the cannons—how could I? We were gathering resources—but I can tell it's quite a few, from the bodies lying around. I look at the remaining tributes. Most of them gone. Glimmer and Marvel are scrapping through the Cornucopia, as is the girl from Four. The boy's dead, probably. The boy from 3 is busy rigging the mines like we'd agreed. Peeta is sitting on a rock or something, examining a wound. I almost consider helping him for the sake of knowing Katniss's secret, when I remember he's not going to win. I am. If he survives, it'll be with us, but on his own.

I look around, frantically scanning our surroundings for Clove, who's gone missing. Many of the victims today were hers; they all have a cut somewhere, where she lodged one of her dozen knives into their flesh. I almost trip over a girl—6? 7?—when I hear Clove screaming in frustration, something I'm used to by now.

"She got away!" she screams at me when she's close enough for me to understand her. She throws herself on her knees to the ground, stabbing it repeatedly with a bloody knife. "She got away! The bitch got away! With my _knife_!"

It takes me two seconds to put the pieces together. Katniss. She tried to kill Katniss. And Katniss got away with her knife. I hoist Clove back up on her feet, and widen my eyes at her so she gets the message. Peeta turns around, interested by now. "Who's that?" he asks.

I subtly shake my head at Clove, and she gapes at me until she realized what's going on. "Um, the girl from 5," she lies loudly, stepping away from my hold. "She was too quick, and she got away with my knife." She spits out the last few words, obviously horrified at having lost a knife. Well, if all goes well, she won't need twelve knives, what with all the spears, arrows and daggers we've managed to scrape up from the Cornucopia.

The boy from 3 comes up to me finally, and shouts at Glimmer and Marvel and the girl from 4—Atlantis—to clear out. "It's mined," he whispers to us, and then starts to explain how we'd have to get around to the supplies. "If a mine is triggered, only that mine will be set off."

"And the thief?" Clove asks, interested.

The kid stutters. "Dead in a second." This answer seems to satisfy Clove, and she shrugs and saunters off. I look at him, eyes narrow. He'd better be right!

**Clove**

Night falls quickly. Atlantis, Glimmer, Marvel, Cato and I are still walking, dragging Lover Boy behind us. I still fail to get over their fiery entrance and his sick revelation of love. Oh, it was genuine, all right. He's in love with her. But not enough to waste his own precious little—what was he again? A baker?—baker's life for.

Atlantis and Glimmer are a match made in heaven. It's ridiculous, how similar these two are. They can't talk about anything else besides clothes and dresses, like the ones they wore for the interviews. They're practically useless! Sure, they're both born Careers, but Atlantis fails with everything that doesn't happen to be a trident—which wasn't at the Cornucopia—and all Glimmer can do is fail with the bow and arrow. They've got the mindset of Careers, but not the skills.

Marvel and Cato make a good team, though not nearly as good and effective as Cato and myself. Still, they play it up for appearance's sake, setting everyone off, no doubt, about the great collaboration between districts. It's like Cato just wants to give them a good show.

While these two couples are busy bonding over the joys of hiking, I'm stuck in the back babysitting our prisoner of war. Peeta is surprisingly strong, and he hasn't said a word about his leg injury. Still, it's not like the cut is super deep anyways. I finally lose my temper when he trips and falls, even though it's not his fault. Jesus, you'd think that being one of the privileged kids from 12 would make you at least half as productive as anyone from our district, but I'm pretty sure that, by now, Hatchet could take him.

This reminds me of Hatchet. The only kid in 2 with a kind soul. I wonder what he's up to—probably at school…No, he wouldn't be. He'd be watching me on the large screen at the square. And my mother would be with him, too. I suddenly wonder how Enobaria's doing with sponsors. We haven't received anything yet, but that's probably just because we're doing so well by ourselves. I'm sure if I get into any sort of trouble, she'll send me something. I could tell I was her favorite, even if Brutus preferred Cato.

By the time we arrive at our first tribute spotting, it's freezing cold. Good thing they dressed us up in these jackets; otherwise we'd be dead already, but I'm sure the Capitol wouldn't stand by and watch us die like that other time in the frozen wasteland.

Nobody notices the fire until Marvel points it out. That's probably one of the only things he's good at, pointing out stuff, besides throwing that damned spear. If he let go of it for even a second, I'd take him down with one of my—ugh—_eleven_ knives. "Look, guys! Fire!"

Cato and I whip our heads around, frantic to find it. Fire means a tribute, and tribute means one more kill. Sure enough, there's a thin line of smoke trailing up by a tree just a few hundred yards away. We immediately start walking that way, and Peeta suddenly panics. I push him along.

"Don't worry," I say sarcastically, shoving him away as I pass him to catch up with Cato and Marvel, the real killers in our troop. I know he doesn't actually care about what I'm going to say, but I need to keep it up for the show's sake. "It's not your little girl on fire. She's not stupid enough."

He pales considerably, and I'm wondering why just as we reach the site. We all agreed that Cato would get the first kill, so I wordlessly step back with the girls and Peeta and Marvel, while he grins at her demonically. "You know, fires are awfully bright this time at night," he says, drawing back his sword.

"Please! Please don't kill me!" she begs, and her whimpering reminds me of myself, back in District 2. The coaches for the Careers were brutal. Some ended up just snapping a kid's neck for disobedience. How many times had I pleaded for mercy, just this last year?

With a flick of Cato's arm, she stops screaming, and I look away. It's one thing to kill a girl; it's another to see the victim. Cato doesn't seem to have a problem with this, though, as he stares at her before retrieving his sword. He turns to us. "Yo, Lover Boy. Where's the girl, then? Are we going the right way?"

Peeta flounders about for an answer before finally wincing in pain and standing up from the rock. "Yeah. Yes, we are." With that, he points us in the direction to go, and we follow him without protesting. I know that if he's wrong, Cato will take care of him for us.

**Cato**

"She's not going anywhere," says Peeta as Katniss gasps for breath above us. Does it matter if she dies now? She's already humiliated me. Gotten a better score than me. Volunteered more desperately than me. Add this—making me fall and look ridiculous by that stupid old tree—and she's practically killed me already. I turn to Clove to see her reaction, and she nods at me. He's right, she's not going anywhere.

I shrug and point at a spot covered in grass nearby. "Alright, we're setting up camp. I'm going to go get some firewood. Who's coming with me?"

"I'll go," Clove and Glimmer say simultaneously. I raise my eyebrow at Glimmer; has she already fallen for me? She blushes crazily, and stutters to cover up. "I mean, if nobody else will. But, Clove, you can go." Clove nods and follows me into the woods as Glimmer, looking offended, leans by Katniss's tree.

"She likes you, you know," Clove mutters, stacking some wood in her arms. "She practically _told_ me so when we were hiking up here."

I shake my head, confused. True, at first I thought Glimmer would be a good girlfriend, given that she didn't fight back and was incredibly sexy. But for some reason, that wasn't enough for me anymore. I wanted someone strong, someone clever and brave. Glimmer wasn't any of those things. "But I don't like Glimmer," I tell her flatly, hoping to drop the conversation before stirring up drama in the Capitol. It was true, what Clove said about giving them a good show. I wanted them to focus on our strengths, rather than weaknesses. And love would definitely be a weakness.

Clove doesn't say anything else as she gathers some more wood in her arms and drops it in my empty ones. But on our way back, she purposely drops her wood, and as I bend down to help her pick it up she whispers. "Then who do you like?" she asks timidly, careful not to be too loud. Obviously she thinks the same way I do. Strengths, not weaknesses.

I hesitate for the first time in my life before answering. "You," I whisper just as quietly.

She blushes and nods understandingly, before replying, "You're not too bad yourself." I can tell that's not all she really feels, but we've got to deviate the cameras away from us for a moment like this. She smiles at me as we make our way back to our campsite.

"Who's taking the first shift?" I ask, trying hard not to yawn as I lay on the ground, my head propped up by a fallen log. Marvel looks just as tired as I do, Atlantis is already half-asleep, and Clove has obviously seen better days. The only one not exhausted seems to be Glimmer, which makes sense since she did next to nothing all day.

Glimmer notices my staring and sighs. "Alright, I'll take it. I'll wake Atlantis up when I go to sleep."

We nod, and I motion Clove to sit by me. She hesitates—probably wasn't expecting this at all, seeing the angle I've been playing until now—but in the end comes by. Clove, who never hesitates. We lay just as we did last night, her wrapped in my arms, no intentions other than to calm each other down during this nightmare. That's what it's turned into, now. I thought it would be fun, just kill some kids, get used to it.

It's like I can still hear the girl's screams and cries as I stab her. Thank God Peeta offered to kill her off for me; I would've fallen apart, panicked like my dad knew I would.

Suddenly I wake up with a start. Those _are_ screams, but they're not 8's. They're Glimmer's!

There's an incredibly loud buzzing noise engulfing us, and I look around, relieved momentarily that Clove is away, clawing through the woods with her knives, all eleven of them. _Tracker-jackers_. I grit my teeth. They're the worst of the muttations, by far. At least, so I've heard. I've never been stung, until now. The wasps are everywhere, stinging every surface, my elbow, my ankle, my shoulder. I see the sky turning a sickly green, and Clove's suddenly flying into oblivion. Marvel pulls me up, drags me by my arm. He's faster than I am, though, more alert, so soon I'm huffing behind him. Then I remember Glimmer, Peeta and Atlantis.

I can see immediately Glimmer and Atlantis are lost cases, but Peeta's still fighting, smashing large groups of the golden wasps with huge rocks around him. He's stung, though, so his vision must be blurring as much as mine. I can tell he's weak, so in an uncharacterized motion he's suddenly over my shoulder as I try to run as far away from the tree as possible. Before I'm fully away, I hear Glimmer scream, and as I turn to look I'm aware of only one thing.

Katniss, perched up on a broken branch, holding Clove's knife.

**Clove**

If there's one good thing about Peeta and Katniss being the gross little lovebirds of Panem, it's this rule change. Now I can stop having nightmares about the last two being Cato and I, and I have to kill him, or he has to kill me. We can finally both just go home.

I tell myself this every minute, every second I think about him. _That's the only reason you think about him!_ I think unsuccessfully, trying to not be too much of an obvious onlooker whenever he's not paying attention. He's not likeable; I know that. He's arrogant, vicious. Heck, he didn't even hesitate twice when we decided who'd go kill the little girl! But then…why is he being so nice to me? It couldn't be the rule change; that _just_ happened.

Every day that nothing happened, something else happened. Peeta and Katniss were probably playing up the romance act to the max, pulling in one sponsor after the other. Where are _our_ sponsors? Now that we have no food, and limited weapons, we could really use the attention. Still, not having the cameras trained on us is probably a good thing, because I don't think the Capitol will appreciate two love stories to look after.

Oh, Cato and I aren't in _love_. It's not even a playful, cutesy little attitude we adopt around each other. At least I don't dream about strangling him in his sleep anymore. I'm going to go ahead and take that as a good sign.

As soon as I hear the rule change, I turn around and throw myself into his arms. He's shocked, I can tell, although whether it's by my hug or the rule change I don't know. He hugs me back immediately, though, and buries his face into my neck. "Clove, we can both live," he says, overjoyed. When he pulls out, he's smiling, ecstatic.

"We can both—" I start to repeat, but I'm silenced by his kiss. It's so sudden I actually think I gasp, which makes him laugh for some reason, but he doesn't stop. It's a light, gentle kiss, unlike everything else about him, and for a second we just cling to each other until I pull away. "We need to win," I say confidently, because we do. And we will.

He nods, delighted by the idea of us teaming up officially. "We're _going_ to win!" he shouts out, unafraid that anyone will come crashing by. Who'd come, anyways? The lovers from 12 are probably tied up in some tree, Thresh is probably busy throwing rocks at trees, and that girl from 5—Nissa or something—is probably running after one or the other, scraping up supplies. It wasn't hard to figure out she'd been stealing from us, especially after the silver pan that marked one of the mines had disappeared. Then he just sits there, holding me to his chest as if he can't believe I'm really here.

**Cato**

"Cato!"

I turn around, trying to find the voice. Her voice. Because it's the one that's woken me up so many times these past few nights, when she's been tortured by endless nightmares. "Clove!" I shout back, running around the Cornucopia. I throw one last look over my shoulder at the wheat fields, then decide Thresh isn't coming out to the feast any time soon. Besides, this is much more important.

"Cato!" she screams back, and I'm horrified when she's not screaming anymore. Then I see a large figure—Thresh!—run from the other side of the Cornucopia. When I arrive to Clove's area, it's the first time I can't stand looking at a corpse.

Until I realize she's still breathing.

"Clove! Clove, can you hear me?" I scream at her, in her ear. Just anything to get a reaction from her! She's breathing in shallow gasps, but breathing nonetheless. For a second I'm hoping she'll live until I see the dent in her skull, the rock by her body. She's gone. Not yet, at least, but she will be, soon. I hold her hand in mine, trying to fight back the hot tears swimming down both of my cheeks now. "Clove! Clove…please…" My words are coming out in stutters, interrupted by my sobbing. Talk about weakness!

"Cato…I…" she tries, gasping for air. She tries to focus her eyes on me, but I can tell it's all she can do not to roll over and die. I lean in, making sure she knows I can hear her. "Win. Please, Cato!"

I nod, sniffing as my forehead reaches her hand. I've collapsed in on myself. I kiss her gently on the lips, just like I did every night for the past few nights. When I pull away, her eyes have glazed over. I glance around, making sure there's nobody there—the hovercraft would be coming sometime soon—before I lean in and whisper, "Clove, you were the only life worth saving. I'm so sorry. I love you."

A small, choked sound comes out of the back of her throat, and she whispers her last words. "I loved…you too."


End file.
